


shining through

by thedaughterofkings



Series: Kiss Meme [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adult Stiles Stilinski, Adult Vernon Boyd, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Needle Phobia, Needles, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Tattooed Vernon Boyd, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-06
Updated: 2017-08-06
Packaged: 2018-12-11 23:30:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11724834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaughterofkings/pseuds/thedaughterofkings
Summary: When Stiles decides to get his first tattoo, he doesn't expect to get a tattoo artist, too.





	shining through

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Stoydweek 2016 and is also another fill for [my kiss meme](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/tagged/and%20let%20me%20kiss%20you) \- an attempt to write fics for all of [these kissing prompts](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/post/122866648711/fictional-kiss-things-that-end-me)! The prompt I chose for this fic was: "when they lean forward a fraction as if to kiss the other person, then realize they shouldn’t and pull back to stop themselves".
> 
> The title comes from Cyndi Lauper's "True Colours" and the fic was first published on my tumblr [here](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/post/152532468726/shining-through).  
> Beta-read by the wonderful [Larissa](http://ohfuckthisshit.tumblr.com), thank you so much!

Stiles doesn’t remember why he thought this would be a good idea. 

 

“Ready?” Boyd asks as he comes in, bringing with him the biting scent of disinfectant.

 

Oh right, that’s why.

 

Boyd is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome: several inches taller than Stiles, probably a couple of stones heavier than Stiles, most of it muscle, and covered pretty much head to toe with absolutely gorgeous tattoos. Which is what Stiles is here for.

 

The tattoos, not tall, dark, and handsome.

 

Okay, also tall, dark, and handsome. 

 

To be fair, Stiles had been thinking about getting a tattoo before he met Boyd. But it had been a very vague idea, one of those “one day I’m going to do it” thoughts that usually never come to fruition. And then Boyd comes into his classroom for his little sister’s parent-teacher conference and they spend more time talking about good places to get tattoos than talking about Helena Boyd’s school marks. Well, technically neither Boyd nor Stiles should have even been there; Boyd is her older brother, not her father and Stiles is just a substitute. And Helena aces all of her subjects - except from English, but that is because her English teacher is Harris-levels of terrible and refuses to teach anything but DWEM’s, that is dead, white, European males, and hits Helena with bad marks when she speaks up against that. Stiles fully agrees with her - Shakespeare is awesome, sure, but there are other cool people, too, you know! So he reassures Boyd that Helena’s marks are no reflection of her actual ability - it is more of a rant about the abilities of her teacher to be honest - and at some point the topic switches to tattoos. Stiles honestly doesn’t know how. Boyd shows him a couple of the different styles he has on his body and tells him where he got them. He recommends most of the places except the one that did the white ink tribal art on his upper left arm - “awesome tattoo artist, but all around terrible person otherwise” is Boyd’s verdict.

 

He leaves Stiles with a list of recommended places as well as the blacklisted one and let’s it slip at the last minute that he himself is a tattoo artist with his own studio. 

 

So that’s where Stiles goes a week later. 

 

Yes, he manages to wait an entire week, and he’s very proud of himself.

 

Boyd even remembers him still!

 

He takes Stiles into the back room, a comfy lounge with a huge couch where they both settle down to talk about Stiles’ future tattoo. Originally Stiles had wanted something to honour either or ideally both of his parents, perhaps a Sheriff’s star. Boyd listens intently and draws a few suggestions that all look great, but not quite right. Stiles tries to explain what feels wrong, but it doesn’t work. Eventually Boyd gets up and fetches two bound, black books for Stiles to look through. They are filled with Boyd’s work, a multitude of styles on a myriad of bodies. Stiles leaves through it, occasionally lingering over a tattoo, a geometric, stylised feather in pure black or a pair of huge, colourful wings spanning across shoulder blades with the tips reaching almost to the elbows.

 

“That’s not something I’d do for a first tattoo,” Boyd says softly. He’s sitting next to Stiles sipping a cup of tea and watching him. “That’d take at least three sessions - and that’s if you basically feel no pain and can take it for hours.”

 

Stiles thinks, ‘oh, I could take you for hours’, feels his cheeks flush with heat and ducks his head under the pretense of taking a closer look at the picture. Then he actually takes a closer look and quickly flips the page over. Yeah, no, this is not Stiles’ future tattoo.

 

He keeps flipping through, in awe at Boyd’s talent, but no closer to finding something that truly stands out to him. All of those are other people’s tattoos, not his. When he says so to Boyd, Boyd just bites his lip and looks at him intently for a few long moments. Stiles stares back, feeling as though he’s going through some sort of test. He appears to have passed it, because Boyd gets up again and actually leaves the room this time. He comes back with a small sketch book, obviously well used, but also well loved and cared for.

 

“These are all designs by me that haven’t been tattooed onto anybody yet. Perhaps you’ll have more luck with them,” Boyd explains and gives it to Stiles, their fingers brushing lightly.

 

Stiles takes it carefully, aware that he’s being granted some great honour, and takes his time studying each drawing carefully. Most seem to be done with charcoal, though there’s the occasional rough ball point sketch, and a couple of bursts of colour interspersed. They all seem more intimate somehow, more personal, more Boyd than the actual tattoos. It makes sense, Stiles thinks, with the tattoos, Boyd is more the pen and the person that’s getting the tattoo is both the paper and the artist - it’s  _ their _ tattoo after all. But these are all Boyd and Stiles is utterly fascinated by what he’s seeing. 

 

He almost skips it - two pages are stuck together a little and Stiles has to flip back, but then he sees it: a vibrant explosion of colour and form, a watercolour drawing of a fox, not all neat and within the lines like in third grade, but wild and free, splashes of colour almost jumping off the page, mostly reds of course, but off set and intensified by a bright blue for shadows and accents.

 

“That’s it,” Stiles says. “That’s the one I want. Is that possible?” he asks, suddenly afraid that he has finally made his choice only to be told that it’s impossible, but Boyd just smiles at him. 

 

“Of course that’s possible,” he answers, voice reassuringly calm and certain, but there’s something in his eyes that tells Stiles that he’s holding something back. As it doesn’t seem to be something that prevents Stiles from getting his fox however, he’s willing to let it slide - for now.

 

But yes, that’s how Stiles ends up where he is right now, questioning his own judgement.

 

Sitting topless in Boyd’s tattoo studio, watching him prepare the needles for Stiles’ very first tattoo. THE NEEDLES!

 

How could Stiles forget that he was afraid of needles?

 

He’s quietly freaking out, mind going into overdrive imagining the needles breaking his skin, entering his body, and he jumps violently when a warm hand lands on his shoulder.

 

“Woah,” Boyd says, suddenly standing in front of him, Stiles didn’t even notice him moving! “You need to calm down a little, or this is not going to work.” He presses gently against Stiles’ shoulder and adds: “Lean back against the chair and try to relax. Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

 

Stiles’ eyes dart to the little movable side table where the tattoo guns and colours are all lined up.

 

“I … just don’t like needles,” he admits, hating how pathetic that sounds when said out loud, but Boyd just nods.

 

“Okay, just look at me, Stiles, alright? I want you to concentrate just on me.”

 

His eyes lock with Stiles’ and he doesn’t look away until Stiles has nodded his consent. It’s not as though looking at Boyd is a hardship; Stiles could stare at him for ages. He’d just prefer to do it while Boyd isn’t punching needles into his skin. Unfortunately that’s what Stiles pays him for, so this is all he gets for now. Hell and heaven have never been so close together. 

 

It seems to work, though. The needles hurt of course, and occasionally Stiles can’t hold back a small sound of pain, but all in all he’s so focussed on Boyd that he can mostly block out what’s happening on his chest. Boyd’s eyebrows furrow when he hits a particularly intricate part and smooth out again once he masters it. Stiles can’t see his eyes because he’s obviously looking down at Stiles’ chest - and isn’t that an anxiety inducing thought. Stiles has grown a lot since high school, both literally and figuratively, but his main weapon is still his brain, not his body, and his bare hint of muscle on his chest is no match for Boyd’s pecs and sixpack that his wonderfully tight t-shirts hint at. 

 

‘Stop obsessing,’ Stiles mentally scolds himself, ‘you pay him to look at your chest and your muscle-fat ratio is surely the last thing on his mind right now. Stop being a creep, Stiles!’

 

Stiles listens to himself as little as he listens to other people however and shortly afterwards becomes an even bigger creep because his gaze falls on Boyd’s lips next. And that’s where he finds his personal happy place, where no bad needles can touch him. Boyd’s lips are pink, pale against the darkness of his skin and oh so plump and soft looking. Stiles imagines rubbing his thumb across them, to see, no feel, if they are really as soft as they look. He can almost feel them on his own lips, dry and chapped in comparison, tugging on Boyd’s lower lip with his teeth, wetting it with his tongue, and finally pressing their lips together, the kiss starting soft and gentle, but quickly deepening until it’s wet and hot and dirty and steals Stiles’ breath. 

 

Before Stiles’ fantasy continues with Boyd’s lips moving lower on his body, the voice of his current object of, well, objectification thankfully interrupts his overactive imagination.

 

“We’re done. You did great, Stiles.”

 

Stiles blinks several times in quick succession, still somewhat caught in his fantasy and not quite back in reality again.

 

“Stiles? Are you okay?” Boyd’s voice sounds much nearer now, but Stiles still doesn’t expect him to be that close when he opens his eyes again. Boyd is leaning over him, one hand on the chair next to him, the other hovering in the air as if he’s going to take Stiles’ pulse any second. They are almost nose to nose and Stiles leans forward unthinkingly, before he realises what he’s doing and jerks back. He’d only moved a fraction, but that together with his following overreaction, which almost toppled him out of the chair, is enough to make it clear that he was going in for a kiss. Stiles’ blood rushes to his face and he starts babbling, offering apologies and explanations and some more apologies, the words tumbling over each other, until a pair of lips that is indeed as soft as it looks, presses against his for a short, sweet kiss that shuts him right up.

 

“That’s the reward for holding still so admirably,” Boyd says and that’s definitely a grin on his face, which means that Stiles can possibly, probably start breathing again.

 

“If you want more, however, you’ll have to take me on a date first. I like candles and string quartets.”

 

Five years later Stiles also presents a ring. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I'd love to hear what you thought, so please leave a comment below or come talk to me on [tumblr](http://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com)!


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